The General Assembly
by blaaaaaarg
Summary: A Model United Nations AU. Student delegates from all over the world congregate in the heart of New York City for four days of high-intensity drama, romance, and hilarity.
1. Germany, Part One

A/N: A Model United Nations AU. I've wanted to do this ever since I watched the "16 Military Wives" music video by the Decemberists. There's pretty much every pairing known to man in this thing, so I won't list them all here.

The General Assembly

Chapter One: Germany

Ludwig looked around his room one last time, checking to make sure he'd packed everything. Of course he'd packed everything. But that didn't mean he wouldn't check seventeen or so extra times just to make sure.

Finally satisfied he had everything he needed, he brought his suitcase to the kitchen and set it on the floor. His dogs walked up and sniffed it gloomily. Ludwig bent down and ruffled Schatzi's fur. The great German Sheppard whined and licked his hand. Bayrische and Pfoetchen nudged his back, obviously wanting more attention.

"LUDWIG!"

The blond blinked and turned to face his older brother, who was standing in the doorway, hands on his hips and feet planted firmly apart. His silver-blonde hair was standing up all over the place, and his lower lip was wobbling. He had obviously just woken up, even though it was already past noon.

"I can't believe you're leaving without me, asshole! What am I going to do without you?"

"Bother the neighbors," Ludwig returned to petting his dogs. "Like you usually do."

Gilbert crossed his arms.

"Why can't I go?"

"You didn't apply. The spots for German delegates are filled, großer Bruder. Besides, the program is for people who resolve their conflicts by discussing issues. You resolve all of your conflicts by beating people up."

"Why can't I be Prussia, then?" Gilbert sat down in one of the kitchen chairs, scowling. "Prussia's fuckin' awesome."

Ludwig coughed. "Prussia doesn't exist anymore."

"Does too," Gilbert retorted, swinging his legs up onto the table.

"Take care of Schatzi, Bayrische and Pfoetchen while I'm gone," Ludwig ordered, then stood, picked up his suitcase, and walked out the door.

--

Several long flights later, Ludwig found himself on an odd-smelling shuttle to the hotel.

A young man with tousled brown hair and glasses slid into the seat next to him, and held out a hand.

"Hello," he said, in English. "I saw you on the flight over. Are you Germany? I am Austria, but you can call me Roderich."

Ludwig accepted the handshake. "Yes, I represent Germany. My name is Ludwig."

A long sigh from behind them startled the two.

"Like, oh my God?" someone said. "What, like, totally crawled up their butts and died?"

"I know, shh!" giggled a girl's voice. "They can hear you."

"Yes," said Ludwig. "Yes, we can."

Two people slowly, guiltily, poked their heads up over his seat.

"Like, hi," said a guy wearing butterfly clips in his shoulder length hair. "I'm Poland, but please, call me. I mean, Feliks," he added, giggling madly. Ludwig and Roderich stared.

The girl had long brown hair and a pretty smile. She flashed this towards them apologetically.

"I'm Hungary. My name's Elizaveta, but I prefer Eliza."

"She totally wants to get frisky with you, Rod," Poland interrupted loudly. Eliza turned a dark shade of red and punched Feliks. Hard. Ludwig winced and glanced at Roderich, who was also blushing and ducking his head.

--

The shuttle dropped them off at the hotel shortly afterwards, and Ludwig found himself in his hotel room alone, unpacking his luggage in the eerie quiet. It was a nice room, wide and spacious with minimal décor. There were two twin-sized beds facing a medium-sized flat screen television. It was nothing fancy, which was how Ludwig liked it.

But where was his roommate? Certainly, the opening ceremony didn't kick off until tomorrow morning, but technically whoever it was was late for check in.

Not that Ludwig minded. To be honest, he was sort of dreading living in the same room as a stranger.

Deciding that he might as well take a nap, Ludwig crawled beneath the covers and fell fast asleep.

--

The German delegate awoke to some kind of commotion going on in the hallway outside of his door.

"For the last time, let me go!" whined one slightly nasal voice. "Fratelloooo..."

There were several loud, thumping noises and the doorknob jiggled.

"No! I'm not staying with that damn Spaniard! He's a pervert! I'm staying with you!"

"Ve! You can't stay with me! I already have a roommate!"

Ludwig decided that it would be good to open the door and see what was going on at this point.

Two nearly identical young men were tangled up in a heap on the floor. One with lighter brown hair was holding a card key away from the other.

"Can I help you?" Ludwig asked. The darker haired guy chose the opportunity to swipe the card out of his brother's hand. The light haired one immediately sprung up and grabbed the front of Ludwig's shirt. Ludwig stumbled back a few steps in surprise.

"Lovino is being mean to me! He wants to sleep with me because he thinks his roommate is a pervert, but I say he isn't a pervert, maybe! I told him looking through someone's underwear upon meeting them is maybe just a custom in Spain, but Lovino doesn't believe me, and now he's stolen my key!"

And with that, the young man began sobbing loudly.

The other guy, Lovino, looked irritated. He handed the key to Ludwig.

"Can I sleep in your bathtub or something?" he asked. "My roommate is a pervert."

"I'm sorry," Ludwig apologized. "But I'd rather you didn't."

"Bastard!" Lovino suddenly shouted. Ludwig resisted the urge to clamp a hand over the noisy man's mouth. "I need to keep an eye on my brother, too, you know? He's very innocent! If I hear you lay one finger on him…" And with that, Lovino stomped off down the hall, shouting obscenities about Spaniards and potato bastards.

"Come on in," said Ludwig, grimacing. His roommate continued to cling to him, and was now staring all starry-eyed into Ludwig's face.

"Hi, I'm Feliciano Vargas, and that was my brother, Lovino, and we're both Italian delegates, and I really like you, you know that? I just decided, and we're going to be best friends."

"Best…friends…?" Ludwig echoed, feeling his face color.

"Yes!" Feliciano smiled. "Now, can you help me with my suitcases? I don't think I can carry all fifteen up the stairs by myself."

--

In only four hours, Feliciano had taken up most of the closet space with his ridiculous designer clothes, redecorated the room with random crap, ordered seven room service pizzas (and eaten them all), and left a complete mess around the room.

Ludwig was now picking up after the other student, grumbling to himself all the way while Feliciano took the longest shower in the history of mankind, no doubt using up all of the hot water. To make matters worse, the Italian was singing. Loudly.

As Ludwig was just settling on his bed and pulling out a book, Feliciano emerged from the bathroom. He dropped his dirty clothes on the floor, along with several damp towels. Revealing himself to be completely naked.

"What--what--what--" stammered Ludwig.

"Ve?" Feliciano gave him a quizzical look and crawled into his own bed, yawning. "Goodnight, Ludwig. Wake me up when we have to go."

Ludwig buried his face in his book, trying not to look over at the naked Italian.

It was going to be a long week.

--

Ludwig awoke at his usual time of six a.m., feeling jet-lagged and irritable.

He tried in vain to roust his roommate for about fifteen minutes, which was rather awkward because the covers had fallen off Feliciano so he was just kind of, _well_.

Ludwig gave up and decided that he could always call the room on his cell phone later.

Breakfast was provided by the hotel. There were several other people in the restaurant, but Ludwig felt that, after last night, he had met enough people for a lifetime. He chose a table alone in the corner, but, of course, no one else respected his wishes. He was not there for ten minutes when a blond man with large eyebrows and green eyes approached him.

"Another early riser? Most people are sleeping off the jet-lag, you know. I'm Arthur Kirkland, by the way. Representing the British Empi-- I mean, England."

"Ludwig, Germany," Ludwig grunted, shaking Arthur's hand.

"Actually, I'm here to get away from my roommate." Arthur shivered and glanced around. "You seem to be the sanest guy here so far. See him?" Arthur pointed towards a towering man in a scarf sitting at another table. "That's Russia. I don't know his real name, but I've already heard some rather odd rumors. And over there--" he pointed to a short, angry looking blond sitting with a cute girl. "That's Vash. I sat next to him on the shuttle. When he opened his backpack? I swear I saw knives."

Ludwig glanced around in alarm.

Arthur just sighed miserably.

"Honestly? I hate America. And not just the country. I had to apply for this in one of my classes. Just my luck I should get in…" he shook his head. "I don't know why my little brother wanted to come with me so badly."

"That's funny." Ludwig sipped his coffee. He noticed the other delegate was drinking Earl Grey.

"Yeah, well, Peter's just a little git," Arthur sighed. "They can be so bloody annoying."

Ludwig nodded in agreement.

"Say, is your brother the other Germany? You look and act completely different, but I thought he mentioned you."

"The other Germany?" Ludwig blinked. He hadn't seen this person on the flight over, nor on the shuttle. He had assumed that the other delegate was running late.

"You know, light hair, funny eyes…"

"Gilbert… Gilbert is here?" Ludwig asked.

"Gilbert, that was his name!" Arthur snapped his fingers. "You mean you didn't know?"

"Excuse me," Ludwig said, setting his coffee down and bolting out of the restaurant.


	2. Germany, Part Two

A/N: Things _really_ start to pick up in the next chapter, which is from Canada's perspective, and features a lot of England, France and America. I already have most of it written. Please bear with me for now.

I have no idea how the UN works, although I am trying. For now I'm kind of bsing my way along, so if someone sees something inaccurate, please let me know. I mean wildly inaccurate, because this is pretty unrealistic anyways. Need beta, will pay with e-cookies.

Mama Greece and Hetalia are not mine.

The General Assembly

Chapter Two: Germany

"Gilbert. Gilbert Weillschmidt." Ludwig repeated, running a hand through his hair. It couldn't be. Gilbert was a fairly common name, after all. How…?

"Room three fourteen," said the receptionist, confirming all of his worst fears.

Gilbert had some explaining to do.

--

To Ludwig's surprise, Roderich answered the door.

"Good morning," said the Austrian. "Can I help you?"

"I'm looking for my brother," Ludwig said. "Would he happen to be in?"

Roderich's lip curled. "Ah yes. My esteemed roommate, Mr. Weilschmidt. I was unaware you two were related." He turned and called over his shoulder. "Oy, profligate. Your brother is here."

"Bro!" Gilbert swaggered out from the room, shoving Roderich aside and joining Ludwig in the hall. "Man, what a drag. I was in the middle of a nap, too. When those guys say red-eye flight, they really mean it…"

Ludwig tried to ignore the irony of that statement. "What. What are you doing here?"

"Turns out there was an open space for a German delegate after all." A slow smile spread across Gilbert's face. It was not a nice smile.

"You killed him?" Ludwig asked, completely serious.

"Of course not! I just paid a little visit to his house. Turns out he didn't want to come too badly after all…" Gilbert trailed off, grinning gleefully.

"Oh, Lord." Ludwig buried his face in his hands. "How did you get them to accept your application? Did you beat up the judges, too?"

"Nah." His older brother waved a hand. "I just printed out one of your extras. I remembered you rewrote yours five billion times anyways."

Ludwig let out a long sigh.

Gilbert glanced at the clock at the end of the hall. "Look, bro, I'd love to continue this convo, but the opening ceremony is starting soon, so I gotta split."

Opening ceremony… the clock said 8:56. Four minutes before the ceremony began.

_And he forgot to wake up Feliciano._

Schei.

_--_

Feliciano and Ludwig arrived in the auditorium fifteen minutes late. Fortunately things were running a little behind schedule, so the ceremony hadn't started yet. But everyone was already seated and they received more than a few stares as they ran in. On top of that, it was almost impossible to find a seat.

Ludwig finally squeezed in between an Asian student with a ponytail and an intimidating blond with glasses. He left Feliciano to fend for himself.

A man and a woman walked on stage a minute later. "Hello, students! It's wonderful to see you all here!" the man greeted them. He was tall, with curly auburn hair and a friendly smile. The woman scowled but said nothing. "I'm Mr. R., your director, but you can call me Grandpa." He beamed. Ludwig thought it was rather odd, because he didn't look all that old.

"This is Miss Karpusi," Grandpa continued, "but you can call her Mama."

The woman spluttered and snatched the microphone. Grandpa continued to smile, although his grin faltered a bit when she elbowed him in the stomach.

"Sorry about that," she growled. "Welcome to Model United Nations 2009."

She went on for another half an hour, listing the rules and describing the structure of the conference. Ludwig listened carefully, despite the fact that he had already read what she was saying on the conference's website many times.

The Model UN operates like the real UN: students take on the roles of ambassadors and attend meetings where they debate, give speeches, and form alliances. The goal is to work through issues from the perspective of the country they represent. Ludwig was participating in the General Assembly, which took on a wide range of topics and included "representatives" of many countries.

"Now," Miss Karpusi continued, "we will break off into groups of three and have a practice round. Each group will be presented with an issue, and in a half hour we will meet up again and you can present your issue and a resolution."

Fifteen minutes later, Ludwig found himself seated at a desk with Feliciano and the Japanese delegate, Kiku Honda.

"Do you think they did this intentionally?" Kiku asked, looking around the table.

"What do you mean?" asked Feliciano.

Ludwig sighed and flattened the directions on the desk. "It says we can only fill one role in the group," he explained. "So let's figure out who has what job."

"One of us can exclusively plan, one of us can exclusively record, and one of us can exclusively present. Ludwig-san shall plan, I shall record, and Feliciano-kun…" Kiku cocked his head.

"Of course!" Feliciano waved his hands. "I'm great at talking!"

--

"Mama" cleared her throat into the microphone after time was up. "The first group may come up to the stage. Remember, the presenters must stand up straight with their arms at their sides when speaking. Save the theatrics for the persuasive speeches."

As the first group shuffled to the front, Feliciano turned to Ludwig with a worried look.

"Don't. Even." Ludwig growled. "If you mess this up, I will kill you. So don't be nervous."

"Ve--"

"The next group is Kiku Honda, Feliciano Vargas and Ludwig Weilschmidt," Miss Karpusi announced.

The three of them walked up to the stage, and Feliciano took the podium.

"Go ahead," Mama encouraged.

Feliciano stood hunched over, fingers twitching at his sides. "Hah, uh, ve… ah….wuh…"

Ludwig's eyes widened in disbelief

"Muh--muh--" Feliciano stopped short and dashed off the stage. Someone in the audience laughed hesitantly.

"He's speaking in tongues!" Ludwig heard Arthur hiss.

A low murmuring started up among the rest of the students, and Miss Karpusi coughed into her microphone.

"Seems he had a little case of stage fright. It's happened to all of us." She glanced at the door sympathetically. The crowd fell silent.

"You take care of this," Ludwig whispered to Kiku, and ran off in the direction of his wayward roommate.

--

"Hello? Feliciano?" Ludwig crept into the dark kitchen where he had followed the other student. He heard a scuffling noise at the back of the room, and tensed before moving onwards.

The culprit of the scuffling was a large box of tomatoes. How curious; the lid was askew. Ludwig bent down and attempted to peer in.

"Nobody in here but us tomatoes!" squeaked a voice from inside the crate.

"Feliciano, I know it's you," Ludwig sighed.

"Do you hate me?" the voice sniffled. "I'm sorry, but when I can't use my hands to talk-- Please don't hurt me, I'll do anything…"

"It's alright," said Ludwig gruffly. "Happens to everybody." Even though he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that it did _not_ happen to _anybody_. Except Feliciano, of course. Because that was the way Ludwig's luck went. "You can come out of there now."

"You aren't going to hurt me?"

"No, I'm not going to hurt you." _I think. _

Feliciano burst out of the crate like a jack-in-the-box and wrapped his arms in a vice-like grip around Ludwig's middle. "Thank you, _amico_! I knew you would understand!"

Ludwig patted him on the head.

"Sure," he said lamely. "Can we go now?"

On the way back to the auditorium, Feliciano wrapped his fingers around Ludwig's and smiled up at him.

"When I get into trouble, I know you'll help me!" he said. "Thank you!"

"Hrm," said Ludwig, blushing.


	3. Canada, Part One

A/N: Visitors from 35 countries! Holy crap, guys.

I like writing Canada. I like writing Canada _a lot_. He's so whiny. Next chapter is him again, and after that... well, I'll give you a hint: FIGURE SKATERS.

The end of this chapter is still meant to be funny, but in an "oh haha it's like the real thing" way. And, uh, I still haven't written about ANYTHING related to the real MUN. Maybe next chapter they'll actually do some, like, political stuff or something. (Probably not…)

Someone should write a story with Turkey as a dashing corsair. Don't look at me, I'm busy.

The General Assembly

Chapter Three: Canada

The first fifteen minutes of the first debate were a complete nightmare.

Matthew was trapped between Arthur and Alfred, who seemed to be engaged in a heated debate (read: screaming contest). From across the room, the Canadian delegate could see Japan restraining Greece from hitting Turkey over the head with a chair. Bahrain and Qatar were making out under the conference table, and Switzerland had apparently decided it was a good idea to barricade himself into the supply closet, surrounding the door with overturned furniture.

Of course, the fifteen _hours _leading up to the conference had been a nightmare as well. The plane ride was a turbulent one, and his roommate, Francis, turned out to be a complete lunatic. To make matters worse, Matthew's brother Alfred had fallen head-over-heels for _Arthur Kirkland_, who Matthew may-or-may-not have had a small crush on since the shuttle ride to the hotel. Which was _way_ before Alfred saw him, thank you very much.

But of course, Alfred was the one who got Arthur for a roommate. Matthew got the perverted one who smelled like cheese, and in an effort to escape him last night, he had walked in on his brother and the man of his dreams making out.

And now there was a stapler flying through the air towards his head. Holy Shatner, he was going to die a virgin.

"Get out of the way!" someone called, but it was like trying to dodge a shot from Gordie Howe. Belarus had a pretty good arm. Maybe he should ask her if she wanted to join his team, eh? Too late now.

--

Matthew felt as though he were drowning in syrup. The sounds above him were muffled, distorted. He wondered if anyone saw him go down. Probably not.

It was almost uncanny, how invisible he was. Even his imaginary friends snubbed him, and hey, they were invisible, too. How silly he was to think that Arthur would notice him instead of his courageous, loud-mouthed brother.

Now there was shouting going on, something along the lines of "YOU ARE BRILLIANT STUDENTS AND YOU ARE ACTING LIKE CHILDREN." It sounded kind of like Miss Karpusi.

--

"Hey_, buenos días_," said a deep voice. "But it's already dinner time, isn't it? Are you hungry, amigo?"

"Ketchup chips," Matthew moaned. "I want some ketchup chips."

The voice laughed softly. Matthew tried to open his eyes, but the light hurt his head. Not that it wasn't hurting already anyways.

He heard a rustling noise and something cool pressed against his brow.

"You're gonna have a pretty good bump there, man. That stapler hit you pretty hard."

"Who… who're you, eh?" Matthew sat up and cracked an eye open, pulling the cold washcloth off. He was lying on a cot in what must have been the hotel's first aid station. He couldn't see the rest of the room, however; the cot had curtains on either side of it.

"I'm the guy who finally found you," said the man seated by the bed. He was tall and broad-shouldered, and wore his hair in dreadlocks pulled back in a ponytail. "Juan."

Matthew's heart skipped a beat and he found himself staring down at the infirmary floor. He could feel a blush creeping across his cheeks.

"How-- How long was I lying there, eh?" the Canadian asked timidly.

"Well… Mama finally showed up and got everyone to calm down… What a disaster of a first meeting!" Juan pulled out a cigar and lit it up. Matthew's mutter of, "Idon'tthinkthat'sallowedinhere," went unheard.

"Are you kidding me?" a voice exclaimed in broken English from behind the curtain on the left. "That was the most awesome meeting ever."

"You hit your head pretty hard, Gilbo," Juan rolled his eyes at Matthew. "I am afraid you are still not thinking clearly."

"Fuck you," came the muttered reply.

"So…" Matthew cleared his throat.

"Oh yes. I saw the stapler heading toward you, so I ran over. I thought you were America, and, uhh…" Juan scratched the back of his neck, looking embarrassed.

"You… You ignored me because you thought I was America?" Matthew asked in disbelief.

"…But then I tripped over you, and I realized my, ahem, mistake. The least I could do was bring you to the infirmary. I figure I should treat you to some ice cream, too," Juan smiled sheepishly.

"I… I have to go…" Matthew touched his feet to the floor and pushed himself up. He swayed a moment on the spot, and Juan reached out and grabbed his arm.

"Whoa, easy there, amigo." He gave the Canadian student a friendly smile.

"I'm sorry about all of this..." Matthew jerked his arm away and fled for the door.

--

Matthew hurried down the hallway, reaching up only once to gingerly prod the ugly lump in the middle of his forehead. Once was all it took for him to decide not to do it again.

"Miss Karpusi!" He came to a halt in front of the auditorium. The raven-haired coordinator was standing a few feet away from Mr. R and a blond man Matthew didn't recognize. They were arguing fiercely. At least, the blond was. Mr. R. was just jamming his fingers in his ears and whistling. Miss Karpusi turned to Matthew, smirking in amusement.

"Yes? Alfred, isn't it? That stapler hit you pretty hard. Are you alright?"

"Fine, ma'm," he mumbled.

"Yes, well, that's good." Mama cleared her throat. "The students have been asked to research for a position paper and a speech. Right now it's a little bit after dinner, so most people are probably in their rooms or out on the town. You can pick up your papers from the auditorium. I believe your assignment is also there."

"Yes, ma'm." Matthew turned to leave.

"Alfred?" said Miss Karpusi hesitantly.

"What, eh?" He turned around, and she squinted at him.

"No, never mind. Go ahead."

"Yes, ma'm."

--

"_Bonjour_," Francis purred from his bed as Matthew closed the door to their room behind him. "Are you alright? That welt looks rather painful. Shall I kiss it to make it better?"

"_Non, merci_," Matt deadpanned. He happened to have studied French in college, which was just as well. Francis claimed he had no use for English, and preferred to speak his mother tongue. "What's going on out there, eh?" He jerked his head, indicating the shouting from across the hall.

"That moron England is fighting with your brother," said Francis gleefully. "We may have his company in our room soon. He is a fine specimen. I should like to--"

Francis continued on in French, and Matthew became rather glad that he didn't know _that _much of the language.

"--while he is asleep, and--"

Matthew flopped on his bed and turned on the television. Screw that position paper he was supposed to be writing. Maybe there was a hockey game on…

--

He must have dozed off, because Matthew found himself startled out of his sleep by loud voices.

"I have independent thoughts, you know! You can't control me!"

"You--You're so naïve!"

"Yeah, well, I don't need you! Get out of here!"

Oh, great Gretzky. It was his brother and Arthur. Matthew got up and walked over to the door. Francis was already peeking out the keyhole at the two delegates arguing in the hallway. Matthew bent down beside him and peered out.

Arthur was standing in the doorway of his and Alfred's room, a suitcase in hand and a furious expression on his face. Alfred stared him down, equally livid.

"Then I'll stay with your brother. Surely he wouldn't mind my company. You mentioned that he liked me, didn't you?" Arthur's words dripped with malice. Matthew felt his chest tighten, and Francis gave him a surprised look.

"I should invite Francis over, then," Alfred replied with a sneer.

Arthur stiffened, and his mouth set in a thin line. He walked up to Matthew and Francis's door and turned. His voice was much softer as he whispered, "Damn it, Al…"

Francis let Arthur in, and the English delegate was already out of earshot before Alfred spoke, fists clenched and eyes downcast.

"When I met you, I thought you were so much different…"

Matthew felt his heart sink into his toes, and he quietly closed the door.


End file.
